


Flare

by stopmopingstarthoping



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: BAMF Prompto Argentum, F/M, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-17 20:03:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14838284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopmopingstarthoping/pseuds/stopmopingstarthoping
Summary: Prompto surprises Aranea in a number of ways.





	Flare

She says, lightly, like she knows he won't question her, “You wouldn't know how to handle someone like me anyway.” She's almost sad about it, disappointed that everyone's so distracted in this dusty, ruined world that it's been way too long since she had a truly good time.

He says, “Try me.” And suddenly her back is pushed against the wall of this scuzzy bar, and she can see his arm next to her eyes as he presses a palm into the dirty wood next to her head. His chin tips down and he gives her this dark look, and it makes her heart pound in her neck, and _who even is this right now_ , but she knows - she's seen this Prompto brace his knee against a rock, squint an eye, pull a trigger. She's seen that jaw stand out as he snaps a neck. She might have, once or twice, out of the corner of her eye, seen this look directed at her - always writing it off as a trick of the light, a joke of a flickering fire.  

There's no trick or joke in the way she's kissing him, though, without even realizing she's done it. She's pressing her lips into his hard enough to bruise; he grabs her jaw and she opens her mouth. His hand slides around her and into the back of her pants to find the teasing scrape of lace underneath; because she's soft, isn't she, under the leather and the armor? And he lets that glint of hard steel flash; bright hair brushes softly against her neck before the sharp drag of teeth.

Even in the unending darkness, this is the sunshine of high noon that she remembers; it's hot and direct and still she can't look away. She doesn't want to; she's already looking forward to the imprint of this encounter on her later, like the lasting circles in her sight she used to get after she'd stared into the sun for too long. He's sucking a mark into her neck right now; she catches a stern look from the bartender as her head rolls back on the wall, and she pulls Prompto out the door.

They stumble down the dark street in the miserly light of the streetlights; it's all they ever get, and they barely notice it. She's not drunk, exactly, and neither is he, but they're loose-limbed and grinning as though they've had a lot more than a couple each. Aranea feels competitive and free and oddly hopeful in a way she hasn't in a long time when she wasn't swinging a lance.  

The broken-down motel isn't far; she shakes her head as she sees the two rooms they've been using for this particular hunt; grins about the idea of that separation; follows Prompto to the door as he shoves the key in the lock.

She closes the door and locks it behind them, flashing him a commanding look to reassert herself, and he just _laughs_ deep in his chest.It's wicked, and fun, and she feels her own chest flush and those lace panties get wetter.

Still. She grabs him, confident she can throw him around, and it's his turn to look a little surprised. They're both stronger than they look, and she hurls him toward the bed with a flick of her arms, kicking off her boots on her way over to him. He just flops back, folds his arms behind his head and smiles up at her, waiting. Watching her with that attentive killer’s gaze, and she answers with a slow smile.

She crosses her arms and grabs the hem of her tank, snaking her hips as she walks, watching his throat work as she lifts and pulls it off. She wonders that she can hear the small sound it makes as the soft cotton falls onto the worn carpeting, and then she's there, and he's on her again. He curls up to standing and slides around behind her. His breath moves the hair at the back of her neck as his hands unbutton her pants and ease them over her hips. He makes a little wanting noise at seeing the black lace, and his hand smooths around over her stomach to dip into the front; bare fingers poke out of black fingerless gloves and she grinds forward, pressing herself into the soft leather covering at his palm. He swipes into her and her head rolls back onto his shoulder. He stays there for a minute, focusing on making her hips rock and her breaths build into soft moans.

He's taller than she is, and she wonders why she's just now noticing that as she feels him bend down and his hair tickles her shoulder. He caresses wet lips to the same spot before teeth bite down, completing the circuit with his circling fingertips; she jolts, grabs his hand, cries out; she’s already close. She feels his length hardening behind her and she shoves back against it; his breath catches.

He unlatches her bra swiftly and those gloves smooth again underneath as he presses more kisses into her skin from behind; his hips grind against her; she feels his chest move in and out with quickening breaths. A firm hand at the base of her neck guides her down to the mattress; she feels the sweep of lace down her legs, and she's naked; her hot wetness feels suddenly cool in the air. Waiting, but not for long. She hears the soft sound of clothes hitting the floor again, the clank of a belt, crinkle of a packet.

She feels the warmth of his palm along her back, her ass, her leg, and the gloves are gone. The fingers return, dipping into her and turning, and she arches off the bed. She feels the weight of him on her back and the probe of him against her slickness and she wants it; wants him to slam into her but he slides instead. It's slow and teasing and she feels the pressure inside her build as he slips in just a little more. She feels his skin against hers and the hard muscle underneath; he pushes all the way into her and grunts in satisfaction.

The fingers in her hair are a little gentle and a little not; it matches his pace - ardent and rough and intentional all at once. Her fists grab the sheet and her mouth drops open and he kisses her neck again, behind her ear; he likes that as much as she does, it seems. Her orgasm springs like a stalking animal and she writhes as breaths burst out of her; Prompto stays buried so she can clench down on him.

She's not even done riding it out as he grabs her shoulder and rolls her to her back; she knows she's a glazed mess by the hungry look he gives her, and he's sitting in front of her now, pulling the condom back down and looking up at her through fierce slashes of yellow eyebrow. She's up on all fours, reaching to kiss him, and her legs crawl forward and wrap around him on their own.

He swats her ass, hard, and she throbs. He stops trailing his mouth over her skin just long enough to look up.

“Oh, you're coming again,” he promises through a devilish little grin.

He’s a daemon, and she feels possessed, overwhelmed; it's a battle she's lost, and she's giving up willingly now. She gasps as his mouth travels over a particularly sensitive spot, and again there's this feeling of _who are you_? but it's overtaken by the discovery of finding out.

It's not one thing that breaks her; it's too many things at the same time. She's in his lap, and he's pounding into her so hard she can't catch her breath, but whether it's the harsh bite at her earlobe, or the fingers pressing on her clit, or the other hand giving her nipple a fierce pinch, she doesn't know. She doesn't care, and it's everything, and nothingness; she's falling, and he catches her, still fucking her through her orgasm.  

She's coming down, and he’s thrusting up, harder. She watches him get lost in her and it pulls a moan from her throat. It's low, compared to the higher sounds he's making, and she could have predicted that about tonight, she thinks, but that's probably it. She looks down at him and watches his eyes squeeze shut, looks at the deep red flush spreading underneath the freckles, the damp sheen at his collarbone.

His fingers clutch her tightly as he comes, stroking fast and then slamming into her, hard - he knows she can take it. She bites her lip and makes another low sound; he's filling the condom and making her want to feel that inside her next time.

_Next time?_

More surprises, but she'll think about that later, as she's brushing back sweaty blond strands and licking a kiss into Prompto's lips with a tenderness that would disarm them both if they weren't well past such incredulity. He's trembling a little, and she's dazed. They stay sitting up on the bed, though, his face buried in her neck, and if she feels a little bit of wetness trickle through his eyelashes, she'll never tell.

Their breathing slows, and she climbs off him to go directly to sleep. He chuckles at her like he could have predicted that detail himself.

She stirs, later, and he's covered her with a sheet. He's lying next to her, and she doesn't overthink it; she throws an arm over and feels him caress it.

She wakes again; it's well into the night, or maybe early in the morning; it's impossible to tell. He's cleaning his gun, and she watches the look of concentration, the precise movements of his fingers, the flash of the motel neon off the silver barrel, the glow of the lone bulb he's turned on sliding over the muscular edges of his pale skin.

He notices her. She pulls the sheet over her breasts in a false show of modesty as she sits up on an elbow. She tilts her head and looks at him with another one of those slow smiles. He lays the gun down carefully and gets up, wiping his palms on tenting pants; walks over to her. She smells gunpowder and cigarettes, and his mouth meets hers, and they go again.

Sunshine and darkness, and she wants them both.  

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 1 of FFXV Rarepair Week 2018 (Learning/"Try me.") and Day 1 of Aranea Week (World of Ruin).


End file.
